


Falling Backwards

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: Crossing Lines
Genre: Because Only Romantic Losers Have Sex in a Bed Apparently, Carine is a Top and a Boss Ass Bitch, Coworkers to Fuckbuddies to Oops We're Dating, Emotional Constipation of This Level Should Not Be Allowed in the ICC, F/M, Firmly Swimming in a River in Egypt, How do You Accidentally Move into Someone's Apartment?, Marco Constante: Certified Idiot, Marco Has a Thing for Eating Her Out, Professional Idiots, Sebastian is scarred for life, Semi-Public Sex, The Chronicles of Marco and Carine Acting Like Teenagers, They're Just Waiting for Marco and Carine to Figure it Out, Well He'll Show You, everyone knows they're in love, god i hate them, it's canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 07:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17596922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: Marco and Carine are not dating.Then again, they might not be the best people to ask regarding the situation.





	Falling Backwards

**Author's Note:**

> I genuinely hate that they made me write this and that they were such fucking morons throughout the entire thing they're two absolute disasters and I am offended that I had to type this whole thing out.

This is not something that was supposed to become a habit.

In fact, this really wasn’t something that should’ve happened in the first place.

After the first time—well. Marco had asked if she wanted him to get on his knees for her. There’d already been a bit of a spark. He’s the kind of obstinate that makes her want to shove him back onto a bed and make use of those riding lessons as a kid (although her mother would be scandalized if this was how she put them to use). And he asked her, and there was this… this little sly gleam in his eyes, and his gaze dropped down and her stomach had gone tight and she’d thought, well… since he offered…

But then they were interrupted and she’d thought it wasn’t going to happen after all and it was a bad idea anyway and had tried to shove it aside until they’d had their talk, late at night, and she’d sat on his desk and had told him about what had happened to her, and Marco had looked at her not with pity—she hates pity, hates it more than anything—but with recognition, and she’d felt awkward so she’d joked about him making that apology up to her and he’d made a joke back and she can’t for the life of her even remember what he said but next thing she knew…

Well, next thing she knew he was doing what he’s doing to her right now, namely biting at the inside of her spread thighs, his hands on her knees, his stubble doing horrible (delicious) things to her.

But it was just supposed to be a—a one time—definitely just a one time thing because she’s a _professional_ , damn it, she doesn’t just go around having affairs with coworkers willy-nilly no matter how unfairly attractive those coworkers might—oh _God_ —

She slides a hand into Marco’s hair as he finally decides to pay attention to her clit, lapping at it with the sort of delicacy he never shows towards their suspects, and her back arches in her chair. They’re at her _desk_ , in her _office_ , Sebastian or Arabella or (God help them) Ellie could walk in at any moment and wonder exactly why their boss is flushed and panting, squirming in her seat. She should stop this—really she should’ve stopped it the first time—but the first time at least they were alone in the office, it was dark, it was private.

This is in the daytime, in the middle of it all, and just asking for trouble.

But, well, she and Marco are both very stubborn people. Anyone who’s seen them butt heads in the conference room can tell you that. And so when Marco suggests that she can’t conduct business as usual while he’s got his tongue inside her and she scoffs that if he manages to derail her workday she’ll let him fuck her on the conference table…

Well, they end up here, apparently.

She tightens her grip on his hair and Marco’s thumbs press soothing little circles into her thighs. It’s like he’s silently reminding her to relax. She really hates the consideration he shows her, because for every snarky comment there’s a moment where he follows her orders without question, and for every glare there’s a fond, “ _Boss_ ,” spoken like a pet name rather than a work title. He brings her coffee, he puts in extra hours, he walks her to and from her car because the ICC makes a lot of enemies and he’s a paranoid son of a bitch.

If anyone else tried that kind of shit with her she’d set them straight. But it’s like Marco just can’t help it, it’s in his DNA, and when he does things for her it’s not like he’s so much taking care of her as he is serving her, and the look of smug, catlike pride in his eyes when she thanks him for things is a lot more adorable than it should be.

Yeah, she really hates all of that. This is bad enough and she really should stop it if—oh holy mother of _God_ —if stupid feelings are getting mixed up in it too. The last thing she needs is for the little flutter in her stomach when she sees him to turn into a full-blown butterfly explosion, because she knows Marco and she knows that he has no room in his life, in his heart, until the ghost that’s chased him all his life is put to rest.

And she won’t be selfish enough, or fool enough, or arrogant enough, to presume that he’ll set that aside or at the least make room for her of all people.

Marco presses her legs open a little wider and licks right up through her folds and she just about loses her mind. Her spine’s long gone the way of lava, hot and liquid and sliding out, no support whatsoever. It’s a good thing she’s not a moaner—she gets breathy in bed, her voice high-pitched and barely there, little gasps and words escaping and it’s always annoyed her because she feels it makes her sound like a stereotypical Harlequin heroine but the way Marco shudders when he coaxes a choked-off _yes_ from her makes it worth it.

She’s extremely close, oh fuck oh fucking _fuck_ she’s right on the edge, and part of her’s wondering how she’ll convince everyone to avoid the conference room for an hour or so (because fair is fair) when her phone rings.

Marco pauses, tilting his face up to look at her. He looks an absolute mess and she kind of wants to snap a picture just so she has proof that yes, Marco Constante is kneeling between her legs with a red, swollen mouth and messy hair and an absolutely starving look on his face, she did not make this up.

“You gonna get that, boss?” he asks, his voice whisper low and graveling. His fingers skim up and down her legs, making her shiver. The challenge in his voice could not be more clear if he’d written it in sharpie.

As she’s said, they’re stubborn people.

Carine grabs the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey.” Oh Lord, it’s Sebastian, of course it is. Why couldn’t it have been Luke? She’s got no problem scarring Luke a bit. They’ve all tried to be diplomatic but Marco was ready to drop kick the guy into next week for how he treated Arabella and frankly, Carine wouldn’t have stopped him if he had.

“So, I did some digging on our John Doe here based on the runic tattoos…”

Marco twists his tongue inside of her and she jolts, nearly dropping the phone.

“Uh-huh?” She doesn’t sound as sharp as she usually does and she’s well aware of that, thanks, but oh God she really is so very close…

She can literally feel the pause on the other end of the line. “Are you in a meeting?” Sebastian asks. “We can do this later…”

“No, no you’re—” She just barely bites back a small gasp as Marco seals his mouth over her clit. “—you’re fine, Seb, keep going.”

If the ‘keep going’ is accompanied by pushing Marco’s head a little closer to her well, then, that’s just on him if he interprets it as an order, isn’t it?

She’s trying not to actively, y’know, smash his face into her. That would be rude. But it’s getting very hard to control her motor functions.

Marco’s dark chuckle and deliberate scrape of his rough cheek against her folds suggest he doesn’t mind.

“Right. So. Turns out that these runes are specific to…” Sebastian begins spouting off about some modern-day cult that has happily appropriated Viking culture for their white-supremacist needs because there is literally nothing that white supremacists do not touch and ruin, apparently, but it’s all a haze to Carine as she starts gingerly thrusting her hips up into Marco’s mouth.

She gets a pleased little rumble for that and then without warning two fingers are sliding into her, thick and annoyingly dextrous, as his mouth seals over her clit again and _sucks_.

She claps a hand over her mouth to hold in the truly embarrassing noise she almost made. She’s—well, writhing is really the only word for it—and biting into the palm of her hand and unable to think anything other than _so good, so good, so fucking good._

Marco is considerately kissing along her thigh, gently massaging some feeling back into her legs, when the world stops spinning and the rollercoaster bottoms out.

“Did you get that?” Sebastian asks.

“Yup, read you loud and clear,” Marco says, still under the goddamn desk. “I don’t suppose you could give us the address of whoever’s in charge of this operation?”

There is another pause, and then Sebastian says, “Marco? Didn’t know you were there.”

“Did I not mention that?” Carine asks, and she hates how out of breath she sounds. “You’re on speaker.”

“…ah,” Sebastian says. It is a very ominous word and manages to somehow pack an entire essay of questions and judgment into one syllable.

Carine closes her eyes and prays that Sebastian’s judgment is merely over how she’s been obviously favoring Marco over the others when it comes to who she partners with. It’s not her fault he sticks to her side like glue.

Although it might be her fault that she likes it, that she lets him.

Marco’s eyes practically gleam with satisfaction—she can almost imagine him purring—as he wipes off his mouth and gently tugs her skirt and underwear back into place. He even gets her a glass of water.

Bastard.

“We’ll see what we can dig up on our end,” Carine says. “If you’ll send us the files. I can get Luke and Arabella checking out his house.”

“No problem.” Sebastian sounds relieved that the phone call is ending. “I’ll let you know once I have more.”

Pressing the ‘end call’ button has never been more satisfying.

Then she levels a glare at the smug inspector who is now lounging against her desk. She deliberately does not look at the (mouth watering) way his pants are tenting. “You can wipe that smirk off your face any time you feel like it.”

“Check yourself, boss,” Marco drawls.

She realizes she’s smiling and immediately turns it into a scowl. “You do realize we now have to literally _schedule_ our sex. I have to reserve the conference room.”

“Mmm, timetables, sexy.” He gives her one of his rare grins, the kind she likes to pretend she doesn’t get a little gooey over. “Or we could just wait until everyone else clears out of the office. So you don’t have to worry about being quiet.”

He takes her hand as he says this—the one she bit—and kisses her palm, where her teeth marks stand out in vibrant red. She didn’t bruise or break the skin so they’ll fade, but it stings right now. If her pulse ticks up at the soft gesture from a man who prides himself on his jagged edges… well. That’s just between the two of them.

“We could do that,” she acknowledges.

They’ve only had actual sex once so far, in the car when they got through questioning a witness faster than they’d planned and so she’d had him pull off the side of a country road and he’d fucked her in the backseat like they were teenagers sneaking out to Makeout Point. She really, really wants to do it again, only with more time and without the fear that a highway patrol officer will stop by and ask what the hell they think they’re up to.

The idea of their respective apartments (does Marco even have an apartment or is he just… living out of a hotel?) is a little too personal, a line that neither of them are quite yet willing to cross. So the office after everyone else has left… sounds about as private as they can manage unless they want to rent a hotel room and no, thanks, she hasn’t lost quite enough of her dignity yet for that.

“All right,” she says, as Marco continues to cradle her hand and wait with eyebrows raised for her answer, “we’ll just work late tonight. Think you can stop by the drug store?”

Marco apparently, because he’s a little shit, has a habit of keeping a condom or two in his wallet in order to literally (literally, she’s seen him do it) throw one at some of the perverts or irresponsible teenagers they’ve run into during the course of their work (one would think interrupting a sexual tryst would not be a habit in this job, and yet…) so he had one handy for their little session in the car. But if this is going to become a regular thing, she wants a proper box in her desk drawer.

…she’s going to have a box of condoms in her desk drawer.

All right, so maybe her dignity has in fact left the building after all.

“Can I put it on the ICC credit card?” Marco asks.

“I will make you be Luke's partner for a month,” Carine replies sweetly.

“I’ll use cash.”

“Good boy.”

Marco gets that very dangerous look on his face, the one that when turned on criminals means they’re about to get their asses kicked but when turned on her means he knows that she knows he likes it when she does that and he’s going to find some way to pay her back for it.

He at last drops her hand, which she realizes he’s now been holding and gently stroking with his thumb for a good couple of minutes, and then he’s out the door. Managing to walk normally while he does it, which, good for him.

She settles back against her desk chair and grabs some tissues from the box she keeps—for crying relatives—to quickly, ah, tidy things up before someone walks in.

This was not something that was supposed to become a habit.

But Lord help her, she’s not about to stop it.

 

* * *

 

Ellie comes in to find Sebastian with his head in his hands. “Tough day?”

“They did it _again_ ,” Sebastian says. Ellie notices that his face is bright red. “Do they think they’re being subtle!?”

Ah. Carine and Marco. Ellie pats Seb’s shoulder in sympathy. Their boss and taciturn inspector seem to be under the impression that the rest of the team have not noticed the rather inappropriate workplace behavior that goes on in Carine’s office, the supply closet, the break room, and on the floor in the hallway.

The building has CCTV and Sebastian has full access. They’re all waiting to see how long it takes for the pair of lovebirds to figure it out.

Although, CCTV isn’t even necessary when Marco’s following Carine around like a shadow and all but preening when she gives him two seconds of attention and Carine’s started wearing skirts (“Easy access,” Luke said, and Arabella punched him in the shoulder for it) and reaching out and putting her hand on Marco’s shoulder or in his hair when he’s sitting down (Ellie’s not sure that Carine even knows she’s doing it).

Yes, the rest of them are just waiting for the two to inevitably, passionately declare love in some hugely inappropriate way in front of everyone so that the rest of the ICC can move on with their goddamn lives.

But until then…

“How about lunch?” Ellie suggests. “My treat.”

“I know what my boss sounds like when she orgasms,” Sebastian mutters. “I don’t need lunch, I need memory loss.”

“I’ll put in a word with medical,” Ellie tells him soothingly, and then she guides him up out of his chair and out the door.

Maybe she should just call an intervention.

 

* * *

 

Marco would like to state, for the record, that he is not dating his boss.

Look, he and Bella were on the rocks before the whole… before he lost the lead. She felt he was a workaholic, he felt she was just as bad with her law work, he wanted kids, she felt he was just trying to replace his sister with a daughter, he didn’t like her friends, she didn’t like that he didn’t have any. It was a long time coming.

But he’d been willing to work on things. He’d wanted to stay with her, to make it as a couple.

She hadn’t.

So no, he’s not ready to date someone again and he’s not going to make Carine, or anyone else, into the unfortunate rebound. He’s well aware that his life is in shambles. He has yet to find an apartment, he’s only got the same three shirts he’s been cycling through for the past two months, he can’t bother to shave and yes, Ellie, that’s his tenth cup of coffee, stop judging.

He’s not stupid enough to look at himself in the mirror and think that he’s ready for a relationship. Or to think that anyone would want him.

So he’s not dating his boss.

He’s just… fucking her regularly and in various semi-public areas.

Like the empty locker rooms at a local football club.

Carine, apparently, finds his enthusiasm for ‘soccer’ (as she insists on calling it, like a heathen, or possibly because she knows it gets him riled up) adorable and would like him to fuck her against the wall, please, and be quick about getting to it, thanks.

Sometimes, he hates how much he hangs on her every word. He knows that everyone else has noticed how he sticks by her as much as he can. But hey, there are worse weaknesses in the world than having a thing for powerful women, and Carine has a way of ordering people in her soft voice that just makes him want to roll over.

Or get on his knees. Which he’s done plenty of over the past few weeks.

It’s not what one would call gentle, by any stretch of the imagination. His pants are down around his ankles and her silky blouse is hanging open and it’s a good thing they’re doing this against the wall and not one of the lockers otherwise he thinks they might have broken the locker door. It’s rough and fast and she’s swearing and digging her nails into his shoulders and he’s biting into the skin above her breast. It’s one step above a tryst in a bar’s back alley.

He also wouldn’t stop if you paid him.

Carine has this way of coming like a firecracker, like it’s caught her by surprise, as the little breathy gasps and whispered words turn into a sudden cry and he has to kiss her to keep it quiet as she jerks and shudders in his arms. He never would’ve thought that the most put-together person on the team would want to fuck a mess like him, would let him make a mess of her in return, but he’s going to keep doing it as long as she lets him because he’s got to let off steam somehow and this is far healthier than a bottle and doesn’t come with a hangover.

It does come with some bruises from Carine’s mouth and a sore head from Carine tugging at his hair, but he doesn’t mind. He practically shoves into her as he follows her, mentally reminding himself to get more condoms.

What? They’re two healthy adults with stressful jobs.

He sets her down, trying to be a bit of a gentleman about it, helping her button up her blouse. Carine smooths her hands over his chest. “Didn’t you wear this shirt yesterday?”

Maybe he did.

“We should get back,” he says instead of answering, looking down at her hands on his chest.

Carine looks him over, then gently presses her finger up against the underside of his chin. He’s taller, but he was looking down, so now she’s forcing his head up to look her in the eye. She stares at him for a moment, and he feels like she can see everything, every stupid broken part of him.

But she doesn’t say anything. She just kisses his jaw and then starts walking out. “I’ll be in the car.”

Oh, right, the not-fun part of sex: cleaning up.

 

* * *

 

It’s about a week after that, Marco learns some very important and stressful news that he really should have figured out a while ago.

Someone breaks into the ICC, related to a drug ring case they’re working on (or so they suspect), and Dorn says, “What can we pull up on the CCTV?”

Marco says, “They don’t have CCTV up on this floor.”

And Sebastian says, “We’ve got CCTV everywhere.”

Marco tries very hard not to look at Carine and fervently wishes for death.

He and Carine have… they… well. The conference room table that they’re all currently standing around (please shoot him) has seen plenty of action. He likes when she’s lying on it on her back because he can see her face that way, but she likes it when he’s bent her over it because she likes his weight bearing her down. One time they were working late and started drinking that shitty wine out of the box and he ate her out on the floor of the hallway while she chanted his name breathlessly. Then there was the time she shoved him into a storage closet and he gripped a shelf for leverage while inside her and broke the shelf. And then there’s all the times he’s eaten her out in her office which might or might have occurred in the middle of the afternoon.

They’re screwed all to hell if someone watches the CCTV footage, is what he’s saying.

Carine, thank fuck, stays calm. “Marco and I will go over the footage.”

Sebastian raises his eyebrows in surprise. “But…”

“You’re working on the bank accounts still, I’d like you to stay focused. This isn’t anything fancy, just going through footage.” She pauses, as if she’s just had the thought. “Could someone delete CCTV footage?”

“Pretty easily,” Sebastian says, and launches into a quick explanation.

Two hours later a few hours of footage across the past few weeks have been handily deleted and they have an image of their perp.

 

* * *

 

“Inspector!”

Marco blinks, looking up to see Ellie standing there, coffee mug in hand. She looks in shock, like she can’t believe she actually said his title, in that tone, and lived to tell the tale.

“…yes,” he says slowly.

“Seb has the photos you wanted,” Ellie squeaks, like she’s aware she’s treading on thin ice.

“Ah, thank you.”

He goes back to looking at the package in front of him, but Ellie doesn’t move. He sighs, looking back up at her. “Yes?”

“Those are nice shirts,” Ellie comments.

They are, in fact, nice shirts. All in darker colors, which he likes. Some are button-ups, some t-shirts. There’s about fifteen of them.

“From Carine?” Ellie adds.

“I guess she wanted me to look more professional.”

Ellie delicately sips at her coffee. “What’s the date?”

“…Thursday the 10th, why, is that important?”

“For me, no. For you, maybe.” Ellie pauses. “The drug store down the street sells nice chocolates. She prefers dark. No nuts.”

She’s already out the door and down the hall by the time he catches her meaning.

In retrospect, yelling, “WE CAN’T HAVE AN ANNIVERSARY IF WE’RE NOT DATING,” so that half the tech crew could hear him was probably… not the best response.

 

* * *

 

Carine has had a strict policy from the beginning of her career: she doesn’t date coworkers.

And that’s not what she and Marco are doing. They’re fuck buddies, that’s all. And if sometimes it might look to an outsider like they’re dating, that’s just because they spend all their time together from being teammates. They work long, shitty hours, everyone’s always eating meals together. And if they found the CCTV blind spots and are exploiting them to the hilt, that’s just because she doesn’t have time to go out to a bar and meet someone else. Marco’s right here, he’s willing, he’s… well. He once threw a condom into the wastebasket from across the room and pumped his fists like he’d scored a goal, and yet, she did not kick him out of bed. That should give a good idea of where he falls on her scale of one to ten. And he understands—the job, the demons, the demands—better than anyone else could.

But they’re not dating.

And if she did buy him those shirts so he wouldn’t keep wearing the same ones over and over again like a weary flag to showcase the depression he’s fallen into, so what? It’s her job to look after her teammates. It’s why she’s in charge. And if she blushed just a little when he got her that Mustang keychain because he’d seen it in a shop window, so what? And if she’s thinking maybe of asking him to come to her apartment because supply closets and bathrooms and walls are great but neither of them are in their twenties anymore and they need a proper bed… so what?

She doesn’t date her coworkers, that’s all she’s saying.

 

* * *

 

Sex in a bed is fantastic, why didn’t she make him fuck in her a bed before now?

True, there is a fun, illicit thrill to doing it in the office or wherever else but now she can pin his hands above his head and fuck him deep and slow and feel the muscles bunching underneath her as he thrusts up into her and afterwards they can shower and Marco can press up against her back and slide his hand between her legs, getting his fingers on her all over again, his mouth at her ear telling her all the ways she looked earlier (sometimes he fades into Italian and she only speaks a few phrases but it sounds sexy as fuck so she doesn’t mind), and she can brace her hand on the tiled wall and let him make her come just like that. And then afterwards they can lie in bed and he can have his head in her lap, and she can pet through his hair while catching up on the news and he reads some depressing novel or other about the end of the world. And then, if there’s time before work, she can wake him up by taking him in her mouth and then she can convince him to fuck her all over again, under the sheets, laughing a little as she wraps her leg around his waist and he gets his hand on her ass and she tells him to watch it with the beard burn and he threatens to shave properly.

Bed sex is great, she honestly doesn’t know why she didn’t drag him to her apartment months ago.

 

* * *

 

Marco’s sitting with his feet propped up on the table, idly picking at the remains of his Chinese takeout when Arabella walks by. “Hey, did you finish the book I gave you?”

“Ah, crap, left it on the nightstand. I’ll bring it tomorrow.” Carine’s nightstand, technically, but she doesn’t mind him leaving his reading there.

Across the table, managing to eat her food with actual chopsticks, Ellie says (while not looking up from her tablet), “Are you coming to the bar tonight?”

“Depends on how much paperwork the boss has.” They just take one car generally because he never bought a new one when he moved here and he’s over at Carine’s anyway…

…wait.

He does a mental inventory. His clothes are in Carine’s laundry hamper. His toothbrush is in the little cup she keeps by the sink. He distinctly remembers drinking the last of the milk this morning and adding it to the grocery list on the fridge, and telling Carine to wear the blue blouse when she asked him while he was setting the dishwasher. His dog eared paperbacks are in a pile next to the television, Carine has dutifully added _Breaking Bad_ to the DVR, and his one good tux is hanging in the closet. His preferred coffee is in the cupboard, for fuck’s sake.

Did he? Did he move in with Carine?

Oh, shit, that probably means he should offer to pay half the rent, fuck, she must be ready to kill him.

“Marco?” Ellie prompts.

“I live with Carine,” he says, trying the words out loud.

“We’re so glad you’ve noticed,” Ellie says. “Please do us a favor and if you get married, realize it in enough time to invite us all?”

He glares at her, even as his heart thumps wildly in his chest and he counts backwards in his head. It’s been six months since he first ‘apologized’ to Carine by eating her out on the desk he was working at, with nothing but the one lamp illuminating the curves of her thighs, her soft sighs in his ears.

Six months. And she hasn’t told him to stop his crusade, or asked him for commitment. She hasn’t asked him for… anything, really. She’s just… taken what he’s given her.

Holy shit he’s an idiot.

 

* * *

 

Carine is in the middle of finishing her last email of the day and feeling smug about it when her office door is shoved open and Marco hisses, “Are we dating!?”

She looks pointedly at the door, which he closes. “What makes you say that?”

“Boss, I live with you.”

Oh. Well, he couldn’t keep staying in that stupid hotel and he was sleeping over all the time and she had room and she wasn’t going to push Marco Constante of all people into anything. She felt it was a stray cat situation. You let the stray cat come in and it stays as long as it wants but don’t cry when it leaves for a season.

Because those stray cats do come back.

But they also spook if you try to put a collar on so she hasn’t. And things were fine, things were good, the sex was great and he cleans up after himself and helps her with groceries and washes her hair because that seems to relax him and…

“Oh my God,” she blurts out.

“That was my response.”

They stare at each other. How does she move forward now? They’re coworkers, he’s looking for his lost sister and his divorce isn’t even a year old and she’s got plenty of ghosts herself and she has no idea what she’s doing and judging by the panicked look in Marco’s eyes neither does he and how the hell do they even do this!?

“Oh.” Marco pulls an envelope out of his pocket. “I figured… here’s my half of the rent.”

He carefully places it on her desk, next to the mug he got her a few weeks ago that says _Boss Ass Bitch_ in curling letters. She likes to bring it to interdepartmental meetings and slurp her coffee from it just loudly enough that everyone turns to look at her.

She stares at the envelope. At the mug. At Marco, fidgeting with his hands and looking like he wishes his trademark aviators were on so she couldn’t look into his eyes. He’s wearing one of the shirts she gave him, the black v-neck t shirt that stretches across his shoulders in a way that’s just this side of indecent.

She thinks, _but we fit together._

She thinks, _oh, fuck it._

Neither of them notice about ten minutes later when Luke opens the door and freezes, staring agape, because Marco’s standing between her thighs as she sits on the desk and he’s got his hands up her shirt and she’s basically trying to swallow his tongue.

Luke, for once, does the prudent thing and steps back out, closing the door behind him.


End file.
